


Sameen's Little Switcheroo

by DisposalUnit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Finch may be half-dead but not all over, Finch whump recovery, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Naughty innuendo, Post-Christmas, Shaw enjoys messing with everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisposalUnit/pseuds/DisposalUnit
Summary: A humorous epilogue to my fic "Christmas, December 23rd"When Finch was feeling a little better, he had Mr. Crane's personal shopper do some semi-belated Christmas shopping for Team Machine.Not everything went quite as he planned.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in a silly mood.

Lionel turned off the alarm and dragged himself out of bed on the morning of December 26th, wearing his new flannel pajamas. They were printed with spaceships from Star Trek or Star Wars, or whatever, but at least they were comfortable. And warm.

He put on his slippers and the same old threadbare robe, and padded out toward the kitchen to start the coffee, so he could go into work with at least one eye open.

Whoa.

Santa had made a return trip.

Arranged on the table, around the shitty little tree, were several nicely-wrapped gifts. _Really_ nicely, like they were done by someone with a doctorate in gift-wrapping. Like they probably do at some frou-frou store on Fifth Avenue.

The first box held the plushest, most luxurious robe Lionel could ever imagine, in a quilted burgundy velvet with gold trim. Not quite his style, but close enough. And damn, oh, it felt amazing when he put it on. It was like it was giving him a very dignified hug, or something. It was comfortable enough that he could fall asleep in it, easy, and yet he probably looked nicer in it than he did in his work suit.

He grinned at the thought of the reactions he'd get by strolling into the bullpen wearing the robe. Maybe on the day he retired.

He tore the wrapping paper from the biggest box next, which stood as tall as the little tree.

A coffeemaker. A big one. The writing was all in Italian or something, but there were photos of little-bitty cups of coffee alongside a stainless-steel behemoth that looked to have more horsepower than Lionel's first car. And more knobs and dials and exhaust pipes, too. And yet the design was sleek. Sophisticated.

"Well, la-di-da!" Lionel laughed to himself. He wondered if it would work with his pre-ground Folgers, or if it needed whole beans, or caviar, or something.

He'd figure it out later. Mr. Coffee would get one more workout this morning, at least. And he needed to get that going if he was gonna leave on time.

With the coffee brewing, he returned to the gifts.

A decorative gift box of whole-bean coffee, fancier than anything he'd ever see at Starbucks. "Ko-pi Lu-wak," he sounded out. "Huh. Must be Hawaiian."

Next was a new pair of sheepskin slippers. His current, acrylic fleece pair with rubber soles was just fine, but these looked like they were made from the skin of a sheep descended from royalty. The interior wool was as soft as the fur on a kitten's tummy. They fit perfectly. His feet felt like they were being caressed by angels.

The next gift bag revealed an enormous container of roasted-salted macadamia nuts. How the hell did they know these were his favorite? He'd have to hide these from Lee. Greedy kid didn't know them from peanuts.

A fancy envelope, and damned if that paper wasn't better quality stuff than what his ex had gotten their wedding invitations printed on. Inside, there was a gift certificate to the best steakhouse in Manhattan. Jesus. It held more than enough value to take care of a *very* expensive date or twenty, but Lionel wasn't opposed to the thought of eating there alone, every day for a month.

The next box held a dozen designer silk boxers in assorted colors. Okay, that was a little weird, but whatever. Lionel wasn't complaining. Well, maybe about the size, he might. They looked a bit small for him, but whatever, he could exchange them.

A bottle of designer cologne—No, wait—Some kind of super-fancy, scented massage oil. That was _a lot_ weird. But maybe there was a gift certificate for an in-home massage therapist in the last bag, or something.

That was _not_ what the gift bag contained.

\---

"Morning, Lionel," Reese answered in a hushed tone.

Finch was sound asleep on a hospital bed in the safehouse's bedroom, John sitting at his bedside.

_"Hey, how's Glasses?"_

"Still not great, but getting a little better every day. Shaw let him drink a little bit of clear broth this morning, to help get his digestive system started again. Did you have a merry Christmas?"

_"I did. Had a great time with Lee. And the gifts I found this morning made me pretty damn merry! I really appreciate it!"_

Reese suppressed a smile, even though no one else was around or awake to see it. "Finch insisted on calling _Mr. Crane's_ personal shopper yesterday. Of course, he had _me_ squeeze down your chimney to deliver those tokens of our appreciation."

 _"Leave it to him to get high-end stores to be open and then deliver to him on Christmas day,"_ Fusco muttered in wonder. _"Uh, look, on the subject of squeezing into someone's chimney..."_

Reese raised an eyebrow. "What?"

_"...Are you SURE that ALL of these gifts were meant for me?"_

John's forehead crinkled. No, they couldn't have gotten mixed up. Could they?

...But it would explain why some of Finch's gifts to him had been a little odd.

\---

"You switched the gift tags," John rasped as he emerged from the bedroom.

Shaw hid an evil grin by stuffing a handful of cheese popcorn in her mouth. "Huh?" she mumbled around it.

"I don't think Finch intended that Kegerator for me."

"No?"

Bear scarfed down the kernels of popcorn that fell from Sameen’s full mouth as she spoke.

"Or the shiatsu-massage recliner.”

Shaw reached deep into the decorative tin bucket, pulled out another handful of popcorn and crunched happily. “Are you sure? Finch wouldn’t expect you to drag something that big over to Fusco’s in the middle of the night, would he?”

“No,” John replied, taking a seat across from her. “But this wouldn’t be a problem, since it's just a paid voucher that lets the bearer have the chair delivered at his convenience.” He crossed an ankle over his knee and steepled his fingers. “As you already know.”

Shaw stuffed more popcorn in her mouth, making sure to drop a few more pieces for Bear.

“Sameen, what was in those packages that Lionel got by _mistake_?”

Shaw shrugged. “I have no idea. Guess you’ll have to go do an exchange with Lionel.”

John narrowed his eyes.

Another handful of popcorn. “By the way, I think Finch is feeling _a whole lot better_ in at least one way.”

\---

When Fusco returned home that night, Reese was waiting. A Kegerator with a fancy envelope on top sat in the middle of the living room.

“Hey. What’s this?”

“Your other gifts, that went to me by mistake.”

“Oh! Niiiiiiice,” he laughed, giving the Kegerator a once-over. He opened the envelope. “A shiatsu chair? Wow, I’ve always dreamed of having one of those!”

“Did you have any that were meant for me?”

Lionel blushed. “Uh, yeah, hang on.” He opened the hall closet and dug behind a stack of bedsheets. “I didn’t want Lee to get into them,” he explained.

\---

When John returned to the safe-house that night, Shaw and Bear were both dozing on the sofa. He walked past them and into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Harold looked up from another small cup of broth. “John, my love.” They exchanged a quick but tender kiss. Harold was only wearing an oxygen canula in his nose, instead of a mask, which made kissing much easier.

“Thanks again for the gifts, Harold. Some of mine got mixed up with Fusco’s, and vice-versa, but it’s all sorted out now.”

Even though Harold was still extremely pale, the tips of his ears turned a little pink. “Oh? I hope it wasn’t the...?”

John nodded.

Finch groaned. “...Miss Shaw?”

John nodded again.

Finch rolled his eyes so hard that it sent him into a small coughing fit.

“I think it might be a while before we’ll be able to use some of those gifts,” John smiled gently.

“ _I_ might not be up to it yet, but I can still watch.” Harold smirked and waggled his eyebrows.

“I guess Shaw was right. You _are_ feeling better.”

“I think I’d have to be dead for me not to be aroused by your presence, Mr. Reese.”

John became somber. “I don’t want to think of that, Harold.” His jaw quivered for just a moment. “I’ve already spent months wondering if you were even still alive.”

Harold swallowed. “I’m so sorry.” He reached for John’s hand. “We’re together now. And we’ll stay together for as long as we possibly can.”

John nodded and squeezed Harold’s hand.

A ding as John’s cell received a text from Shaw.

_Hope you got your presents back in new and un-used condition._

John was stone-faced. After a few moments, he replied.

_There’s no way Lionel could take something that size._

A moment later, they heard a loud laugh-snort from the other room.

“Do I want to know?”

John shook his head.


End file.
